


The Iron Brand

by ShyOwl



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Dark, Dark Cinderella, Dark Tony Stark, Demons, Fae & Fairies, Family Abuse, Historical Inaccuracy, Horror, M/M, Magical Realism, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mythology - Freeform, Possessive Tony Stark, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 07:13:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10354968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShyOwl/pseuds/ShyOwl
Summary: Do not wish his name, do not wish his hand, for if you wish for the King, you will earn his Iron brand.Never, ever, wish for the Iron King to come and take your troubles away.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [You_Light_The_Sky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/You_Light_The_Sky/gifts), [michi_thekiller](https://archiveofourown.org/users/michi_thekiller/gifts), [angelblack3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelblack3/gifts).



> This is heavily inspired by the wonderful You_Light_The_Sky, michi_thekiller, and angelblack3, all of who are part of _Twisted_ , the dark-Sherlock/Johnlock anthology. If you enjoy dark tales, in particular from the BBC-Sherlock series, or just beautiful pieces of work please take time to read through their stuff and look into their anthology. Because O-M-G.
> 
> To angelblack3 and michi_thekiller: I don't believe you're into the Avenger-fandom, and I apologize for not making something especially for you...but I wanted you and anyone who reads this to know how much of an amazing inspiration you both are and hope more people will trickle your way to see that.
> 
> You_Light_The_Sky: YO, made the dark!Tony for you!! You're the best inspiration for it! Thank you for the support and push! 
> 
> Think of this story as some sort of combination of The Woman in Black, Cinderella, the Labyrinth, and Guy Ritchie’s Sherlock Holmes (because Victorian-RDJ is a yes). I’m not too sure how else to describe where I got my inspiration from…actually, this story was supposed to be a one-shot and now look at it. I blame those mentioned above. They’re too inspiring for their own good.

-o-

The train gave an unsettling wail as it chugged along through the empty countryside. Snowy dust billowed around the window and briefly hid the view from sight. It was still bright outside but winter in New England did not hold daylight for long. Soon the haunting night would take over the world and everything would fall into a ghostly hush.

Steve turned his head away from the window, the moving earth, and back to his _Tales of Monsters, Myth, & Men_ no longer finding himself invested in the words. Ghostly encounters and history of savage rituals was probably not the best thing to fill his head with before a new home with strange sounds and nothing but vast lands of no people.

His fingers briefly pinched the cloth binding of the book and did his best not to shift in his seat. He did not need cold eyes on his person and his only reprieve from the hours of travel stolen from his hands. Steve felt blessed he was allowed to have a novel for his mind during the hours. Normally, he would be without anything, not even conversation, and the mercy twisted up his insides hotly.

Doubtful they shared any positive merriment towards Steve and their present situation. So, it unsettled something within him to be on the receiving end of the gift. But why question their thoughts and methods? It never got him anywhere. Usually, it earned him a sharp smack of a cane or bruising grip on his wrist.

The air tasted foul in their compartment. His travel companions kept quiet, not even talking amongst themselves as they busied themselves with newspapers or their own books and journals. Occasionally, tobacco was shared for pipes but overall the family was firm and silent.

The train continued along, taking him away from city life and everything familiar. It felt like it was losing last little bit that he could say was his and comfortable. There would be no more sounds and smells of New York. Instead of thousands of vibrant characters filling cobblestoned streets and seaports, there would be dense woods crackling with too much nothing. No brownstones casting looming shadows. No fish markets. No more walks down familiar alleys. No mother.

Steve closed his eyes. He had to let it all go. He told himself he could do whatever was necessary to make everything easier. Including letting his mother and her resting place go.

‘I can mourn anywhere.’ He had concluded the final time he stood over her simple grave. He had left three flowers upon the flat ground, wishing he could afford more, bowed his head and tried to pray but his mind felt empty of verses. 

He had hoped the further out he moved from New York the easier it would become, but it was still bitter and his eyes felt hot. The longer on the train, the further he was from his life. It had been an ugly, sad life but one he was familiar with. One where he knew how to work with, prepare and knew of the nasty bits. One where he still could be around his mother.

‘Stop it.’ He gritted his teeth as the heat and pressure around his eyes started to build up. ‘Crying is not what I should do. It will not change anything.’ Steve took a quick peek at his companions, hoping they did not catch his moment of weakness. ‘Don’t make it worse than it already is. Just stay calm. Please, just stay calm.’

Perhaps once they arrived to the manor everything would settle. 

There should be something exciting about this move. His mother always wanted to move him out into the countryside and away from the smog and crowded life of the city. But moving was expensive and without connections to anyone, she knew there was too great a chance of drying up all their measly savings and becoming homeless. Something Steve’s health could not withstand. So, they remained within New York, working as housekeepers until her dying day five years prior.

It was unfair that she could not see her son out in the healthy location that she had worked so desperately hard for.

Steve turned his page, realizing he’d been staring at the same one for too long. He brushed over stories of demons and fairies hungry for ignorant human’s greed and moved on to something he found a bit more interesting. He found a section on sirens and focused on them for a bit. Like most, they originated from England but Steve suspected there were more cultures influencing the tales that writers disliked sharing. But regardless of Western racism, it still meant the ghouls and beasts were thousands of miles away from him.

Somehow, though, the thought was disappointing.

-o-

Much like the small compartment of the train, the coach to take them home was just as petite in size. Alexander Pierce sneered at the lack of aesthetic appeal but he and the rest of the family pressed their mouths shut and said no greeting to the driver as they piled in one by one.

Although his fingers felt stiff and frozen, Steve assisted the driver to push their belongings in any open crevice and upon the top. The wagon gave a little groan but it steadied itself and did not shudder or break. 

It was far less than half of the family’s original belongings, some clothes, books, and heirlooms they were not ready to part with, but it still took nearly thirty minutes of wasting daylight to put everything in sturdy tight. Before the fire and the suit, the Pierce family had more than any on their old neighborhood and now most everything could fit upon a single wagon.

Jumping back down, the mud splattering on his boots and pants, he looked briefly at his work to try and ignore the terror creeping along each vertebra within his spine.

He swallowed thickly and found his feet felt frozen in muck and soft wood around the station and he had a desperate twitch to throw himself back on the train and just see where it took him.

“Steven,” Pierce snapped and pointed to the front where the driver was located. “Move. Now.”

“Yes sir, sorry.” He quickly, quietly, pulled himself up by the driver while giving him an awkward smile in greeting. There were only a few short breaths of waiting before the horses were kicked into gear and they started rolling off.

Steve turned over his shoulder, looking at the windowed pane that separated him from the family and found it comfortably shut. They wouldn’t want the winter air intruding on their time to mourn their loss of wealth.

He pressed his hands under his armpits and took a sharp breath. It blew out of his mouth like steam from the disappearing train.

“Jesus,” his new companion swore, “why don’t you have any coat on?”

That was an awkward question with no honest answer available that would not lead to awkward pity. So he settled on the vague, but truthful, “it is just how it is.”

“Hmm,” the man seemed to understand what the underlining meaning was and kept it at that. “Well, keep your head down, ok? It’ll help at least with the wind and your eyes.” 

Steve nodded and tried not to let his teeth to begin chattering.

“Talking helps too. Distracts you from the weather. I’m Sam.”

Steve quickly shook his opened hand and then pressed his hands back under his arms. “Steve.”

“So, you’re the folks who got the Shield Manor.”

Steve frowned, “I thought it was Star--”

“That’s what everyone calls it here.” Sam interrupted. “That was actually the last family who lived in it. Of course, that was about thirty-some years ago. It’s really been left alone to rot. We’re all surprised people were interested in it.”

Steve knew about the Shield family. They were once partners of his employer’s father, Rupert Pierce, and sold their house to him for cheap years prior after some disturbances within the family itself. When Alexander Pierce inherited it there was talk of cleaning it up and selling it for profit but it was truly just a forgotten relic. Now that they needed to start over, it was the only property they had and could afford the upkeep of.

“Desperate times and all of that.” Steve noted. “Is the manor famous or something?”

“Or something.” Sam shrugged then sighed. “Look, you’ll find all of us in town are pretty friendly folk. Be kind to us and we usually return the favor.”

Steve swallowed down his warning for now. Perhaps the Pierce brood could keep their sharp-tongue and angry air to themselves to keep good company with their new, forever neighbors. 

“But we’re also a bit superstitious. That house…it’s not a good place.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed. He had heard the home was probably not in the best of conditions, though no one was sure as it had not been looked at for some time, but Sam’s tone sounded like something else entirely than a few cracked windows. “What do you mean?”

“Just, bad things are connected to it. It has its own legend and dark history.”

“Ah,” Steve nodded as he remembered the brothers whispering about some deaths in the household. How it was the last place of some heads of the Shield family before they fell unsettling ill. He had assumed perhaps mold or a form of cabin fever partnered with paranoia. “I heard some of the rumors. That the original builders of the manor disappeared, right?”

“ _That_ family was cursed. And that family is never mentioned here by name.”

“Oh.” Steve huffed air into his hands, rubbing them together, and then pushed them back under to rub his ribs. Even through his shirt and jacket it felt like his fingers could feel each of his ribs. “May I know why?”

“Other than the haunting warning of cursed?” Sam’s lips twitched. It looked like his mood was slightly lightened by Steve’s obvious question. “There are more stories about them and what exactly was wrong with them…but I urge you not to ask around.”

“I just need to accept not knowing?”

“Mhm.”

“Well, that’s a pretty stupid thing.” Steve then cleared his throat, “Sorry, I didn’t mean for it to sound insulting. Just, isn’t that just asking for someone to start snooping?”

Sam did not seem to mind Steve’s poor choice in words but he still gave the lad a stare. “If you know what’s good for you, you will. That place is dangerous business.”

A tingle of interest started but Steve tried to scratch it out of his chest. He could feel his book rubbing against his fingers, pressed protectively in his jacket, and thought it best that Sam did not see it and know of his interests in horror and fairies. “I struggle to believe a house could be an issue.”

“It is when a family like that was in it.” Sam no longer appeared comfortable over the topic and Steve decided to change it, heeding the warning of sharing kindness to earn it.

“What all do you have in town?”

The relief was instantaneous and Sam filled him in on everything Steve could find in his new home.

The town near their new manor was small but growing. It used to be nothing but woods, turned to farmlands, turned to simple family life. The train-station was a few miles away from the center of town and roughly four and a half from their new home. Although the town was nicely clumped together, farms and the sparse remains of wealth were typically scattered about for privacy and quiet.

It could take Steve two hours, if that, to get to town and back for any chores he was sent for. That, at least, was a blessing.

Sam explained there was a public library, though quite small, and only two restaurants and one pub. Most everyone cooked for themselves and Steve would find errands and favors got him a lot more than money for some families. Some farmers would enjoy having a young man like Steve tend to some crops a few times a year and he could earn some grain or tomatoes in return.

The mail center was connected to city hall and was a single room with one woman working, who was usually found reading as mail came possible once every two weeks. There was a school, a rarity for a town so small, but it only housed about fifteen students every year. But it was apparently enough to get three a year to leave for a university.

“The area around here is good for retired life, or at least one of quiet. You’ll find well-worn travelers, scholars, and soldiers within fifty miles here so they will share teachings to the few children.” Sam continued on to fill Steve in on the ways and rituals of the town. Besides the attractions of kind intellects and a strange supernatural shadow, everything else about it was very normal.

Men and women tended to their work every day till dusk, then families would spend time within their homes, while friends met on the streets or indoors given the temperament of nature. Sundays were days off for most and usually when the townsfolk met up for gatherings or meetings.

Sam managed to point to a few buildings, waving to an occasional passerby on the street, most all of which gave Steve a curious if perhaps suspicious stare. Despite this, as Steve cold find now fault in curiosity concerning new neighbors, the town was very pleasant. Quite quaint too, as all the houses were small but charming and in strong shape. Most looked familiar to old cottages but there were plenty of new building popping up with the modernized look and with fresh coats of paint. Drastically slow in comparison to New York, but Steve could make do.

Perhaps if he played his cards right, he could find a connection in town and earn a job. He could eventually leave the Pierce household and maybe start pocketing money for an actual future for himself.

Hope tasted so dangerous.

An hour passed quick enough, though Steve’s whole form ached of chills and his nose dripping.

“There it is.” Sam pointed out. “Shield Manor.”

With the sun setting, the home loomed. It was three stories tall, with black windows, and three columns on each side of the door, holding up a once extravagant balcony on the second story. It was white, probably once the color of milk, though many areas were peeled back to show rotted wood. In the center face of the home, overlooking the plains and town before it, was a large circular window. The design within it was that of an upside down triangle, quite an unusual formation…and made it look like the pupil of a dragon’s eye.

Moss and vines were crawling over it, with weeds sprouting up from a long forgotten garden. Perhaps only two hundred feet from its backside lay a forest. The trees swayed and creaked from the breeze and many of them were naked for the winter, without any leaves or foliage. Even so, Steve could not make out much within it. It was thick and dark.

In the spring and summer, it was probably a beautiful, if still intimidating, sight. The whole scene looked like something out of an old children’s fairytale. Though some cracked windows and holes here and there made it feel a bit more foreboding than cheerful. Still, it was everything his mother would have loved.

“Character.” She would have said. “This place has character. It’s been lived in and then forgotten. It has a story. It just needs a little love and that voice will come right back out.” She probably would’ve tickled him and urge him to go dance in the woods so a Banshee could steal him off. His mother always loved filling his head with stories and giving him spooks so they would have to keep their voices down as they shared a giggle.

It was beautiful and Steve decided he would try his very best to love the home for her. It was more than he could ever ask for his own. He should show his gratefulness for a roof over his head despite all the trouble that has befallen on all of them.

It was not, however, what the Pierce family would desire.

Sam, too, did not seem to enjoy the presences of the homestead, although his appeared something deeper than simple discomfort. His eyes darted around, doing their best to avoid staring upon the property for long. His gloved fingers clenched the reins tightly and he mumbled under his breath in a familiar prayer.

Steve took another look at the home. Terror of a curse was small in comparison to the unknown, the loneliness, and the expectation of pain. This house, this place, could provide him something new but he was not ignorant enough to expect change instantly.

Closing his eyes, he sighed. ‘No, don’t. A right sulk will not do me any good. We know what to expect and that’s enough to survive. I’ve survived through mama’s death. I’ve survived Brock. I’ve survived Pierce. I can survive this. But I won’t if I do this. So, stop it.’

With another quiet moment to himself and his thoughts, taking time to picture his mother and her strong smile, Steve opened his eyes and nodded to himself and the challenge ahead.

Jumping off the coach he made his way to the door, still gazing upon his new home. That window was so fascinating. He hoped there was a floor to it so he could look out and take in the sights. Although as black and empty as an inkwell, Steve found himself appreciating that gaping eye into and out of the house.

“I was unaware it was in need of a cleanup.” Steve noted as he opened the door for the group to trail out. “Won’t it be difficult to make the proper fixings with us living in it?”

“Given our situation, we don’t have much choice do we?” Pierce used his cane to push Steve to the side and give the house a fierce, disgusted stare.

“Well, it looks livable at least.” Steve tried as he walked around the group to avoid any walloping. “I can get started on some minor projects. And come spring, I can start shaving and painting. Perhaps by summer it can almost look worthy of the Pierce name.” He found it always beneficial to sprinkle in a kind word here or there when Pierce was in a foul mood. Steve rarely used it, he was not one to lie, but he also enjoyed avoiding a beating.

“Hmph, I struggle seeing your vision, Steven.” Brock, the oldest son and heir, clicked his tongue. The pink appendage made a slimy chill drip down Steve’s spine and he looked his way back to the house.

“It will probably smell.” Zemo, the youngest of the brothers, looked more soured face than he had entering the train that morning.

Steve started to assist Sam unloading with the luggage. The metal was horrible against his skin and he gritted his teeth to keep a whimper down. Sam gave him a sympathetic look.

Ignoring it, Steve unloaded the luggage to the front foyer of the home. He kept his head down to not get distracted by the newness of it all. The light was slipping down the horizon and twilight was upon them. There was a chance of more snow throughout the night so they needed everything brought inside beforehand. 

Hot tea boiled from a fireplace and perhaps some bread was their promised first meal in the new home. His stomach lurched miserably at the sad thought.

No matter the weather, Steve would need to head into town in the morning for supplies and food. Perhaps he could see how much Sam and his coach cost to make the trip easier. He had mentioned favors were as good as coin in the town, perhaps Steve could stretch his hours and get his work done for the Pierces and for Sam’s assistance.

“Steven,” Pierce snapped his fingers and Steve hurried to his side. “Here, pay the man and hurry up. The chill is growing and there is much to do before we can take any sort of rest,” the way his lip curled made it seem like he believed no rest will take place, “for the night.”

“Yes, sir.” His joints and limbs still felt so cold and painful. The money was heavy in his palm. Squeezing it, he could almost imagine the coins were hot. “Sam,” he nodded as he handed over the payment. “The Pierce family thanks you for the services today. We hope to use you in the future. But, I may need to…well, see about any services I could provide for you and the community.”

Sam pocketed the money and continued to share the concerned and sympathetic expression. “I believe something is available. I’ll look into it and let you know once you are in town. Any ideas when that may be?”

“Tomorrow. We only have some supplies and food to get us through the night but I’ll need to come in and start filling up the kitchen and patching holes. It’ll be nice if I could have a ride to bring all the items back up. Given the distance.”

Sam nodded slowly, “Yes, I think that is something I can do for you.”

“I’ll make my way there in the morning--”

“No, the winters here can be a bit harsh. At least I can meet you halfway. You saw the rock we passed by, correct?” At Steve’s nod he continued. “That is a perfect place to meet. I can take you to town and point you in the direction for your supplies.”

A small smile grew over Steve’s face, “I appreciate that.”

“Steve,” Sam reached over and gently grabbed Steve’s shoulder. “If you need help, don’t fret about speaking to anyone about it. As I told you, we are a close community. We are willing to help others out.”

Steve nodded back in gratitude, reading what Sam was offering. It was rather shocking to hear such help from a stranger. Perhaps it was such a difference between the city and country. The treatment of servants was not always taken into consideration—especially when so few spoke up about ill treatment. Money and housing were too important and easy to lose and a few slaps here and there were easy to ignore when there was some access to food.

“I appreciate that. Presently,” his shoulders slumped. “Apologies, but I cannot take your help just yet. I owe a debt to Pierce, one they will prove legal, and I doubt they’ll let me quit anytime soon.”

Sam frowned, “A debt?”

“Steven!”

“I am coming, Mr. Pierce.” Steve called back as he gathered the last bit of cases. 

“Steve, when not pulling the coach I tend to the bar. You can find me there if you need any assistance.”

Steve nodded. Again, that tempting hope was urging for him to grasp at it.

‘No. I’ll be positive but I’ll also be realistic. Do not overreach. Do not hope too much. Do not do that to yourself.’ His throat briefly quivered as he turned and walked away from Sam, towards the Pierces, and did not look back. He heard as Sam’s horses clopped away, heading to his safe home.

“Steven,” Pierce snapped again, his cane dangling by his leg with a clear threat.

“Coming, I’m coming.” Steve picked up his pace, being careful to not drop the final cases.

Perhaps it was just the paranoia of his new acquaintance, but staring at the house as he came back felt like he was walking into the mouth of a hungry creature.

-o-

Before the sun started to rise the next morning, Steve was already making his way out and down the path to town. Luck was in his favor as now snow had fallen on the ground during the night, but the chill in the wind was bitter and bone cutting.

His fingers, cut and burned from tending to the fire and starting on projects to keep the family warmed, screamed a him and every move he made. He stared at them forlornly and tried to image they were covered in charcoal and paint rather than callouses and bruises.

Quickly, he pressed them under his arms and jumped on his feet as he waited for Sam’s arrival. His toes squished in his socks and he wondered if he could find some glue in town to keep his shoes from wearing apart.

‘Picturing it, I suppose I can understand why Sam showed me some sympathy. I must look like a pathetic sight.’ It still filled him with some faith in people to know some were moved by other’s plight. 

The fondness must have shown as once Sam arrived as the gentleman gave him a smile in greeting and helped him up on the seat beside him. He arrived in the same coach as the night before. Sam offered up to continue their small talk from before and Steve noticed he continued to avoid discussion of the house. Steve respected the upset and did not broach the topic.

Arriving in town took less time than expected. Steve thought it due to the company. By the time they made it into the town everyone was up and moving. There was more life than there had been the previous evening. Most everyone was polite with nods in greeting and a few more waved to Sam’s direction. None approached them as they pulled to their stop before Sam’s bar where he hid the coach away when not in use.

“Here,” Sam pointed to the store across the street, “This is the local shop. You can find plenty of groceries here but perhaps not as much as you’d be use to from your city.”

“That sounded quite rude.” Steve grinned.

“Well, you know how us country folk loathe those from the city.” Sam pushed at Steve’s shoulder. “Now don’t interrupt your guide. Here you will mostly find your standard items such as a hammer or such.” He continued to give the man directions around town and pointed out all the locations that would be necessary for Steve to go to.

Sam needed to do other work but his instructions gave Steve a clear idea on which direction to go to. They parted with a promise for Sam to meet Steve back at the same location they were separating.

It was a little awkward at first. Steve and anyone he saw knew he was someone different. It felt like eyes were on him. Within New York, he just simply disappeared. Here, now, he had too much attention and he found he disliked the feeling. However, he grew accustomed to it soon enough and he had a list of purchases ready for him to gather at the end of the day.

It took him by surprise to realize he was nearly done before three hours had passed. He wouldn’t be in charge of decoration, that would come down the timeline when they were stable and the men could afford trips into bigger cities. He felt lucky they were able to salvage some of their old furniture and have it deliver to the manor before hand. Not much, only three beds and two wardrobes but something to keep them comfortable for the time.

Steve didn’t mind the old bedroom he was given, in fact, it was not as dreadful as he imagined it would be. In truth, the whole room was nothing too terrible. It had been grand once and was hidden away on the third floor rather than with the rest on the second. Although not as large or traditionally shaped as the other bedrooms it was private and personal. Right across his entry-door was the eye-window, so when he stepped out each day it was the first sight in view, and the room had a personal window that looked out into the woods.

The bed’s sheets and comforters, once red and gold, were dusty and looked to be wearing thin but were somehow rather untouched by the decaying home. Steve slept as best as he could in the new place, which was better than he expected. He was eager to return to it in the night and see what else was within the room. There was a an itch in the back of Steve’s mind that told him there was something more to it than what he could see. 

“Well, enough about beds and mysteries.” He muttered to himself. “What am I going to do for the next few hours?” His fingers drummed against his thigh and he took a brief look around his present location. It would be difficult to get lost, something that could be an adventure back home, but he could make do. “Ah, Sam mentioned a library.”

As expected, he found the library easily. It was within the town hall; a three-story building that looked the newest built of the town. It was painted a soft blue with white trimmings and conjoined to it, almost unnaturally, was a tiny building of the same trim and color and was just the size of a large room. Above its own personal entrance read MAIL.

Taking a peek in through the window, he saw there was a woman with dark hair skimming through a book. He figured he was in the right place for the library because she had two more stacked on her desk.

Steve came in to make a brief acquaintance and to make sure he knew the routine to pick up the Pierce’s mail. It was possible things were not quite yet settled legally, so he’d need to be familiar with the mail-system in the town.

The woman, Wanda, was a nice girl though a little quiet and sullen. Their interaction was brief and he could tell she was more interested in hiding behind her book than talking to a strange man but he got enough information out on her that if mail is ever delivered, it was on Tuesdays unless it was expedited. Unless a payment was made, mail was rarely delivered to the household and Steve could not expect for Shield Manor to ever get word on if anything was received or not. It was their job to come check and pick up.

“Thank you kindly.” Steve said with a smile as he started to make his way out of the door to go search the larger building beside him.

“Your home is haunted, you know.”

Steve paused and turned to look at the girl. She had an accent that was a bit thick, unexpected in these parts—but then again, Sam mentioned many unusual folk were drawn to the area. “Is it?”

She nodded, her book placed down on her last pages. “Everyone knows, but no one speaks of it.”

“You will?”

Wanda shrugged.

“Do you believe in it?” He pried.

“Perhaps. I do not know. My brother and I moved here four years ago. We were the newest here till you. From Sokovia.”

Steve hadn’t heard of it and he apologized for his ignorance.

That made Wanda smile, “Not many know of it. It is small. Was.” She shrugged again. “We left due to war. In our country, in Europe in general, we never underestimate the possibility of the supernatural. But since we’ve arrived here I have not been to the house. My brother has. He tried to sneak in because he is an idiot.”

Steve snorted over his laughter and that earned a stronger smile from her.

“He didn’t see anything at first. But he did not like it.” Her smile fell. “He is a trickster but he does _not_ lie. He did not feel like he was in any danger, per say, but he did not feel alone. Said he had eyes on him,” she tapped the back of her head to show what she meant. “He said there was something waiting in the shadows, observing him. He felt like a mouse under the stare of a disinterested cat. Like he was free to roam but not for long and not without respect.”

“That is an interesting feeling.”

“If he weren’t my brother I’d have a hard time understanding what he meant. He left the home after only a few minutes. He worried to overstep his welcome. But he said as he was leaving, he turned to…well he was not sure why. He just felt like he needed to. And he saw a figure at that large window.”

“The circular one? The one that looks like an eye?”

“Mhm.” She nodded.

‘By my room.’ Steve tried not to let a chill run through his body. “He didn’t think it was just a glare or something similar?”

“Not when the shoulders shook as if laughing and it rose its hand to wave him off.” Wanda shifted in her seat and she, too, started to look uncomfortable. 

“Do you know anything about it?”

“Only a little. The people here did not fill us in either. We just researched a bit, my brother was an idiot, and then we respectfully pulled back. We enjoy it here and do not wish to cause any issues to our friends. I will say, please don’t use its true name.”

“The, uh, Star-name?”

Wanda’s eyes brightened, “Clever code. Yes. I think it’s fair not to too. Names are powerful tools for those in the other realm. It’s why you never hand your own out freely in all the stories. Its name has apparently been said before and unusual and unsettling things happen. So far, nothing deadly, but enough to keep everyone unsettled.”

“Like what?”

She tapped her book, “One time I heard a child accidently slipped the name out and a mirror near by cracked. Just simply cracked for no reason. Though the parents swore the mirror cracked in the shape of a laughing face. Another time a farmer slurred it out when he was drunk and his carrots turned red and his tomatoes purple.”

“Almost silly things if they did not seem so…” He struggled to find the right word.

“Wrong.” Wanda paused and dipped her chair back to see if anyone was coming through the door that led into the main building. She saw no one and motioned him closer. “Supposedly, the original family was never quite right…but their son was different. When he became,” she bit her lip and shook her head, “the stories said once he changed, so did everything else.”

“Changed?”

“ _Changed_.” She stressed.

“Wait,” he blinked as he went through his books of the occult and supernatural. “Changed like Changeling?”

She nodded solemnly. “Stories say that the mother made a deal or she gave herself to a demon or fairy for a chance to have a child. Whatever the origin, in the end, it was said the boy was not natural. Too beautiful, too smart, too cunning. Then when he was reaching the age of thirty something happened.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. But something concerning him changing and then the family just vanished. Then there was this story, no one knows where it came from, of a king with an iron heart who will make any deal for a heavy price.” She licked her lip and fidgeted again. “Do not say that name either.”

“What name?”

“Iron…uhm, Royalty.”

“Ah,” he nodded slowly, unsure if he understood. “People think it’s the son?”

Wanda pulled back and brought her book back up as if to make a wall. “There was talk since over a hundred years ago that a woman in Pennsylvania gave birth to her thirteenth child and it was a devil. Perhaps we have our own devil here.”

“Perhaps.” Steve gave her a nod in gratitude. “Thank you for sharing this with me. I appreciate knowing a bit of where I’m living. I hope to see you around Ms. Wanda…oh, you look like you may know the answer to this…library?”

She pointed to the door on her right. “Go through there and then take the stairs down. The library takes up half of the first floor and the entire basement. Natasha is downstairs.”

“Right, well thank you again.” 

Wanda just gave him a small hum and put her attention back in her book.

Walking out, Steve had a lot to think about. Wanda was very helpful, perhaps a reader like himself and eager to share something or maybe just a kind soul who wanted to warn the newcomer…regardless, now Steve had a little more information on Shield Manor.

‘Ghosts, Changelings, and a demon who makes deals? That is certainly a lot for one house to hold.’ It almost seemed too good to be true. Too much excitement read as more paranoia than anything else. 

The basement part of the library was a bit bigger than Steve anticipated. Although he figured a good chunk of the items concerned records and other town-focused historical books, Steve preferred fiction or the history of Europe, China, or India. But beggars could not be choosers and he was certainly a beggar.

The librarian’s desk was near the stairs and another woman was there, reading as well, with an oil-lamp near by. She had sharp features and fiery red-hair. There was something intimidating about her, more so than Wanda, and it took a moment for Steve to find strength in himself to make a greeting.

“Excuse me?” He gave a shy smile to the woman. “Sorry to interrupt your reading, but I wanted to ask for some information?”

“Yes?” She tipped her sharp glasses down her nose to stare at Steve. Up close, she was beautiful and even more imposing but Steve found he quite liked that.

“I am a, a servant for the new family that moved into the manor up the road.” He paused to notice any reaction. The woman’s eyebrows rose in interest while her lips eased in their frown. Nothing too terrible then. “I believe I’ll be the one doing most of the repair work. Do you happen to know if there are any blueprints that I could study today and in the near future?”

“Blueprints.”

“Yes, I mean…I assumed there would be. Are there any?”

She tilted her head, thought for a moment, and then nodded. “Yes, here follow me.” She walked around her desk and off down a hallway of books. Steve’s brows rose when he noticed her dressed in men’s pants rather than traditional skirts.

What an interesting woman.

“These here,” she pointed and stopped, surprising Steve in his pursuit to keep up, “are records of the town. Some history and journals…now,” her fingers skirted across one shelf then another before she went, “ah-ha,” and pulled out a book. “Here we go.” Flipping through the pages the found what she was looking for and brought out a thick manila envelope and handed it over. 

“These them?”

“Yes, now you can’t take these out of the library but feel free to study them or whatnot.”

“Thank you, Ms. Natasha was it? Ms. Wanda pointed me in your direction.”

“Wanda did?” Natasha looked him over and nodded. “Yes, you do look a bit unassuming and kind. Still surprising, she can be a bit shy.”

“She must’ve sensed we like stories.” He left it at that, as he did not want the girl to get in trouble for giving him information that should not be spoken of. “Also told me she and her brother were new here too. It was a great comfort to hear from her about that and how happy she is. Makes me think it might be possible for myself.”

Natasha nodded and then looked back at the envelope in his hand. “I’m surprised as the owners, your employer does not have a copy.”

“Oh, well,” Steve tried not to wince but failed. “There was a fire and we think those copies were in where it happened. Luckily, the deed to the home was elsewhere.”

She nodded and he wasn’t sure there was any interest left. He awkwardly cleared his throat and waved the papers up. “I’ll put these back up before I leave. Thank you again, ma’am.”

“Fine. I’ll be up front if you need any assistance.” She gave him a proper nod and turned heel to stalk away. Her heels clicked against smooth floor and if he angled himself right he could see her soft light and form on her desk. Besides the two of them, it was empty within the library. Perhaps most did not have the luxury to spend daytime looking at books. Interesting that there would be one of this size. 

Still, he did not want to waste time looking over his shoulders before someone showed up to actually look over his shoulder. He made himself comfortable on one of the few small study-tables and got to work. The papers smelled musty and sharp. There was also the stench of old leather and cloth. It was a scent only a library could carry and fed into Steve’s eagerness of the mood.

Unrolling the paper, Steve looked over the design and was instantly disappointed.

The skeleton of the house looked very normal. Large, a bit odd in the shape of some of the rooms, but nothing to take interest in. He had hoped to perhaps find something secret or anything to connect to this growing mystery but it was simply an old house.

Shaking his head, he felt foolish at how eager he was to find something scary and interesting in his new place. 

Sighing heavily, he shook his head again, and concentrated on looking at the blueprints for something other than childish notions that there was more than meets the eye. Peirce would get him to working on everything broken, and there was a lot broken, and he needed to get himself focused on future tasks.

Tilting his head and his paper, he looked over the map of his new residences and scowled. The art style of it was something he could follow easily enough but the measurements were confusing at best. Steve wished he could take the blueprints home to get a clearer picture but this would have to do for now…perhaps he could find a way to get paper and pencils to take notes.

His blue eyes flipped the page to find the prints for the second story and then went to the third—his level. 

There something did catch his eye, even though it was nothing of a surprise; it seemed his room had direct access to the attack level. There looked to be a door right across the foot of his bed. He hadn’t noticed it the night before, but it was dark and he had been freezing and exhausted. Besides just a bleary peak around, Steve had gone straight to bed in preparation for his shopping trip.

“Well, that may be a place to start.” He muttered. It would be best to make sure the roof wasn’t about to collapse on them during the night.

With another sigh, Steve took a few more glances over the papers before he folded them up and brought them back to their home. He snooped around the shelves for a bit, searching for history of the town concerning the house, but came up empty-handed. He took it as a sign he needed to finish up his little adventure and focus back on his chores.

As he made his way back up, he paused before Natasha’s desk. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was wishing to inquire but he pinched his lips tight when she looked up at him with a certain expression of _knowing_.

“Don’t get eager to bite at the bait, Steve.” She said, using his name in such a personal manner. “There is a lot going on with this town and your home. Starve your curiosity and focus on bettering your life.”

Steve opened and closed his mouth, curious if his horrid situation was so painfully _obvious_ to everyone, when she shooed him off.

He gave her a soft thanks and quickly went back up the stairs. He could feel her eyes on the back of his neck as he made his way out and he tried not to let the attention, this sense of study, bother him.

-o-

He spent a bit more time growing familiar with the small maze of the town. He had time to meet a few other residents, all as quiet and friendly as the rest, and make connections for future work and products. He decided to brave asking for possible future assistances fixing up the manor but, as expected, he was declined kindly but firmly.

Eventually, Steve decided to pull back and head to the bar to visit Sam. The bar was nice, warm, and smelled of hops and burnt nuts. Everything felt really relaxed; quiet, as so many other places in the town, but nice. 

“How was your trip?” Sam greeted as he waved the blond over.

“Useful.” Steve came in. “Friendly. I think I got everything necessary. It all should be ready for pick-up soon.”

“Good, good. Well, we’ll take you back home then. I’ll go hook up the wagon.”

Steve followed, happy to help. The two continued to share some mild small talk as they worked. Sam was interested in the attention Steve earned from Wanda and Natasha. 

“How did you do it? It must be cause of your big eyes and pretty face—lack of intimidation. They rarely speak to men, especially a new one.” Sam noted with a pout, pulling himself up to start their journey. “Wanda is pretty shy and Nat can just be plain mean.”

“She certainly was intimidating.” Steve laughed as he hopped on the seat next to Sam. “But I did not feel like she was mean. Just wants to be heard, I guess.”

“What did she tell you?” 

Steve shrugged, “like you, warning me not to get too curious.”

“Good advice.” Sam gave him a look. “You taking it?”

“To the best of my ability…which isn’t a lot.” Steve said with an apologetic tone and sheepish grin. “This really sparked my interest. A haunted manor with an unusual, mysterious past…a whole town refusing to give any information about it…from my perspective, you’d have to see it would be hard to not be curious.”

“I’m not saying the whole mess isn’t unusual. But people can get hurt because of that place.”

“Not just simple wrongness?”

Sam chewed his lip for a moment, “No.”

They did not say anything more till after they had all of Steve’s purchases within the wagon and was nearly to the rock from their earlier meeting point.

“It happened about a few months, maybe a few years, after the original family disappeared. Once the search for their bodies officially died but before the rumors started.” Sam tsked his tongue to urge the ponies to pick up the pace. “A man, a sort of friend, more of a rival, to the original family’s son had taken over the place.”

“The Shields?”

“No, his name was Justin Hammer. He never owned the place officially. He just thought it his right to get it without payment because of his closeness to the son.”

“They were together?”

“According to basically every tale and rumor around; doubtful. Supposedly Hammer was rather infatuated with the son, but was rejected publically…many times. Regardless, he thought himself the proper heir to the manor and took over. It wasn’t very pretty. He smeared their names, dabbled in unsavory rituals, started to take the house apart--”

“That’s horrible. Why would he do that if he wanted the house of the man he loved so bad?”

“Well, no one is sure _what_ he loved about the son. The family was wealthy from the get-go and possibly had the ability to earn more coin in their bank. The son was handsome, there is no story that says otherwise, but he was supposedly eccentric and wild. Now as for taking apart the house, well, that was because supposedly the family was wealthier than they let on. Probably far more influenced by outside sources.” Sam muttered. “And the son, a strange man, could invent things that were unnatural, that could probably change the world. Hammer wanted that.”

“He thought the family had money and gadgets literally filling the walls?”

Sam shrugged, “Apparently Hammer was intelligent but not very bright. But, regardless, his ownership and search did not last long. After the first week he started showing signs of madness. Swore up and down he found him, the son. Said it all made sense. Three months after that, Hammer said he could find a way to get everything he deserved—even uh, the son.”

“Is there anyway to get the name of the son? It’s feeling a bit repetitive and confusing.”

Sam pursed his lips and nodded slowly, “Anthony.”

“Anthony.” Steve repeated. It was a strong name but did not sound exactly threatening. No foreboding chill rushed through his body. He felt rather normal, if warmed, at the name. Apparently, the first name was not cursed.

“No one saw Hammer for a while after that.”

“After his odd declaration of getting what he deserved?”

“Up until a few weeks. People were fearful what may have happened so they came to find him.”

“Did they?”

“Yes. He was in a room, not sure which one, and he had filled the walls with scribbles. Some were Anthony’s name written over and over again. Others said something about Iron.”

‘Iron King. Oh, Iron Royalty...shit. _Royalty_.’ Steve corrected to himself and wondered why that name was so dangerous as well.

“And a warning…” Sam licked his lips, unsure about repeating it, then decided against it. “Anyway, Hammer was in the middle of the room scrawling the words over and over again. His clothes were a mess and ripped. He had scratch marks over his exposed skin and when the people managed to get his shirt off they noticed he had been branded like a horse.”

Steve blinked. “Really?”

“It was on his lower back. A perfect circle with an unusual symbol within it—supposedly more circles, I believe was said. I’m not sure how it looked in truth, but it was still raw and was bleeding and anyone else that touched it burned too.” Sam’s breath shuddered. “They dragged him out to keep him away from the house, but he escaped and made his way back to the house twice. The last time they found him hanging in the middle of the room he had been found in originally.”

“Oh.”

“People used the terms freely for a while after Hammer’s death…but more and more unusual things continued to happen each time certain words were said. Some people, _somehow_ , knew what Hammer did and tried the same thing, for some reason. Anyone else who supposedly did it was also branded and then would either die or disappear. After the fifth person, the town set up a warning about the name and made sure no one talked about what Hammer did exactly.”

“What about the Shields?” He remembered something had happened but he thought it had just been something sad but mundane. Was it something else? Did that mean Pierce knew about the tales and rumors? The bleak history?

“At first, it went well. No one told them what was happening. It was thought for the best. After all, nothing seemed to happen when nothing was spoken. After a few years, things started to change. The family became withdrawn. Then they started to show signs of the same madness as before with Hammer. They spoke of books and a handsome man who promised them anything…”

“We can stop. I can see this is making you uncomfortable.”

“Very. Listen, Steve, I don’t know what is happening within that house. I don’t really know what has transpired there for sure. All I know is, there is something wrong with it and I do not want to risk my own sanity.” They slowed down to the front of the home again. Lights filtered out from candles in the windows but Steve had seen the electrical lamps and knew he’d need to find a way to get it up and running again.

“Then we won’t speak of it again, Sam. I apologize how upsetting this is to you. But I do thank you for letting me know. I don’t know if Pierce knows of this but I will not speak of it to you again.”

Sam physically relaxed and sighed. “And I thank you for that. The less I hear of this place the better.”

“Well, hopefully I will be able to provide better conversations for you in the near future. If I can make it to the town again soon.”

“There you are, Steven.” Alexander greeted from the entryway, cutting off their talk. “I take it you got everything?”

“Yes, sir.” He nodded and jumped down. “Plenty of food to make it to the weekend. I only got the basic needs in regards to patching up the home. I won’t know what I need exactly until I start working.”

Pierce rolled his eyes. “Fine, fine. Hurry up, Steven. We have had nothing but tea and bread. We still expect dinner by six sharp.”

Steve nodded, bowing his head, and looked down, “Yes sir.”

“And you need to unload everything. Don’t pay the man for anything more than bringing you here.” Pierce dropped a few coins on the ground and then snapped his fingers. “Hurry up.” He then walked back inside.

“Jesus, Steve.”

“Don’t.” Steve pleaded. “Nothing can be said or done. It’s fine.”

“That,” Sam started lowly, his brown eyes serious and firm, “is not _fine_.”

“Right, well, right, it’s not fine.” He conceded with a nod. “But I honestly cannot do much now. Things are just the way they are.” Steve smiled. “Nothing can be done quite yet.”

“Well,” Sam shifted on the seat. He did not sound quite prepared to let the topic go but what could he say? They were still practically strangers and they couldn’t impose themselves on one another. “If you need anything you know where to find me.”

“Thank you.” Steve grunted as he pulled out all the boxes and sacks. “You better head on home then.”

Sam nodded, slowly, “Come to the bar next time you’re in town. Beer and a meal on me.”

Steve’s face melted into a grateful smile. “I’ll owe you a favor then.”

“Nah, it’s completely out of pity.” Sam said, a small smile on his own face.

Steve laughed at his honesty and nodded, “Of course. I’ll come for a visit.”

“Right then, have a good evening.” He kicked the ponies into gear and trotted away from the home. This time, Sam looked over his shoulder to give Steve one more wave.

Steve waved back briefly before he started dragging all the product inside. 

It was near five once he had everything indoors and the perishables put in proper spots. Sadly, he was unsure if he could make the 6pm dinnertime but he did his best.

As expected, he finished and served the meals at 6:27 and he knew what was to come from that.

“Tell me, Steven,” Pierce ordered, snapping his napkin in the air before pressing it gently on his lap. “What is it that took up so much of your time today?”

Still standing to the side, waiting for the dining to stop to take the plates and find scraps, Steve swallowed. “I do apologize for the lateness. With the larger order, it just took extra time to put it all together.”

“Did I ask for excuses?” Pierce asked, sipping on his last bit of his imported wine.

“I…no sir, sorry, sir.” Steve sighed. “I made it to five places to procure the necessary items. Also made conversation with a farmer--”

“Really, conversation when you’re supposed to be working?” Brock drawled.

“It was to start a bargaining system. The farmers here do appreciate money but they prefer errands and favors over it.”

“Oh? So you’d be willing to give them _favors_? I wasn’t aware that tight backside would allow for such a thing.” Brock noted, smirking over his own drink.

Steve tried hard not to flinch or flush and just stared the man down.

“Brock, really. I know there is no longer a woman present in our lives but even I don’t want to hear such talk about Steven.” Pierce snapped his fingers. “Continue.”

“Ah, well, they say if I can come and help to tend some of their fields I can bring home good portion of what I work. Apparently, most others in the village have other jobs that don’t allow them the time to help every farmer. So I was asked to do.” He shrugged meekly. “I said I would speak to you about it, but it sounded like a good idea. Would save a bit of money.”

“Hmm, that is true. Surprise that spacey head of yours thought of it. Did they tell you how much of a portion?”

“They were not precise. But it will just be based on the season, their own stock, and how much work I do. I figure if I show more interest they’ll settle on a percentage.”

“Well, at least you’ve been learning something being around true businessmen.” Pierce cut up his potato and Steve tried not to let his stomach rumble in misery. 

“I stopped by the library,” Steve informed, keeping his back straight in military stance. Peirce preferred his charges, now his only one, to remain in under his thumb like a solider to a general. “I studied over the design of the house so I could ensure anything I do will be safe.”

Taking a break from eating, Pierce’s hand lounged against his cane, stroking it gently. “What else?”

“I spoke to the mail carrier. We can only really expect mail on Tuesdays and they do not make home deliveries. So we, uh, I will need to go there myself to check for anything.”

“They don’t even bring the mail to us?” Zemo rolled his eyes. “This whole place is backwards.”

“Everyone is kind though and seem eager to meet you all.” Steve tried.

“Of course they are. We’re rich and they’re poor as dirt.” Brock said.

Biting his lip, Steve did his best to not say anything against the words. The whole town seemed very steady financially. It was their own homestead that did not fit in and showed signs of poverty.

“I suppose that will have to do, then. You have enough to start on fixing some of these holes?”

“I think so, yes. I plan on getting into the attic in the morning to check and ensure everything is stable then I’ll start on the bedrooms and then work from there.” 

“Hmm, right then,” and then in a flash of movement, Pierce swung his cane out and smacked it brutally against Steve’s left leg.

A yelp escaped him as he tumbled to the ground, his knee throbbing from the surprise hit. He briefly saw colored spots in his vision and for a few seconds he could not catch his breath.

“Let’s not be late with the dinner tomorrow.” Pierce wiped his mouth and then lounged back. “I’m done. Clean the dishes and then get to your room.”

Struggling, Steve managed to pull himself up, his legs shaking and his eyes blurry with water, he nodded. “Y-Yes sir.”

-o-

They barely left him anything on their plates—Brock had ensure to leave nothing—so, Steve found himself with an intense stomach pain as he stared up at the ceiling from his bed. His knee continued to pulse under the skin and he dreaded the work he needed to handle the next morning.

He needed sleep. His eyes burned from exhaustion but his mind, stomach, and leg ached too much to allow him comfort. Unable to walk, Steve decided to hoist himself up on his arms and look across the foot of his bed, against the wall. The winter night made it impossible for him to make out any outline, but according to the floor plan in the library, there should be something right there.

Squinting, he could not make out any handle…perhaps it was meant to be more of a secret door? His imagination could stretch enough to see that as a possibility but he guessed the original residences did not need constant access to the top most level and they did not want an awkward door visible.

“All about the aesthetics,” He grumbled, pursing his lips. 

Perhaps he should find something creepy about the attic right at his feet…but he’d rather have it than a basement. There was one of those too, but it was much smaller than the house and the access to it was boarded up. Pierce figured it was a wine cellar of sorts and was eager to find a way in but agreed bedroom fixings came first.

Steve worried once it was opened and fixed, Pierce would force him to sleep there just out of spite.

Attics were tame. They had access to the outside world. There were ways to escape. A basement was a coffin. It was coldness and darkness and nothing.

Grunting, he flopped back into the soft mattress. It still made no sense how a bed that was at least thirty years old, if more, was still so untouched and clean. If he was not careful, he could sleep the day away in it and that would be trouble.

Inhaling was stranger still as it smelled only slightly musty. Truthfully, there was something nice in the scent. He couldn’t quite place it all of it, some were familiar that he could name (like coffee and earth), some were familiar but he couldn’t quite place (perhaps a some type of metal), and other things that mixed it he had no guess…but it was soothing. With the scent and the soft bed, Steve could almost imagine he was in a tender hold. 

He could almost feel arms secured around him, with a silent promise that there would be no more pain or fear or loneliness…

“If only.” He laughed weakly and it sounded shaky. “If only.”

Groaning, he tried to get comfortable, tried not to think of ghostly arms or the new surroundings or how hungry he was, but his mind continued to talk to him. He groaned miserably.

“Please just go to sleep. Just, _please_.” He begged, truly worried if he did not rest he could pass out the next day. “There is so much work tomorrow. I don’t want to feel all of this any more.” The aches and empty belly felt like they were gloating over how they were stealing away his only time to rest. “Please, just let me sleep.”

“Well, just because you asked oh so prettily.” A low voice purred against his ear. “Sleep, little one.”

Steve tried to gasp, tried to get up—face the unknown voice—but the words slithered into his head and then he was swallowed in blackness.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, a lot of historical inaccuracies…I’ve never actually written anything for this time-period so…whoops? I did some research but, yeah, not enough to shake a stick at. Also, there was a lot of dialogue and exposition, but I don’t want to fall into the classic horror-trap of the “presently endangered newcomer suffering due to lack of info” cliché. I don’t think all humans in a town would do that. Hopefully, a bit more interesting stuff will start to happen now.
> 
> Possibly may have to up the Rating later. Unsure as of now! But I hope this is enjoyed!!


End file.
